Chương 100: Chapter 33: Intellectual Comradeship

Upon waking, the grayish light of the morning filtered through the window. She found herself, to her surprise, dressed in her comfortable nightgown of white linen. Fjora or Samira, with their silent efficiency, had done their work during the night. She got up hurriedly, a sensation of academic urgency pricking her. She dressed in practical clothes, her pants, blouse, vest, and headed in a rush to the class of the day:"Pharmacology of Resins and Waxes".

The master was Anselmo, the same old man with a gaze that transmitted wisdom, the same one who had examined Fern's body. His hair and beard, white as newly fallen snow, shone under the light of the rays coming in from the windows. His air of a patient scholar, carved by at least seventy years of experience, commanded immediate respect. The class was in a stone classroom with long tables, where the smell of new parchment and chalk dust mixed with a faint aroma of forest. —You must understand, youths —Anselmo began.

His voice serene but penetrating, filling the expectant silence. —That resins and waxes are important. As much as or more than herbalism, physiology, or even diagnosis. Not because the other disciplines are banal— He clarified. Then raising a gnarled finger, he emphasized. —But because nature, like the gift of Aelthra, is a flow. And we, by studying these products, learn to recompose that flow in others. To be channelers of the sap of the world.

The only sound that followed was the scratching of quills upon parchment, the students absorbed in taking notes. Selena, despite the shadow that Anselmo represented being the one in charge of the remains of the echo, could not help but feel drawn by the clarity of his exposition. —The sap of the silicariel —the master proceeded. He held up a small flask containing a translucent and greenish substance to the sight of everyone. —It is a true panacea.

It is a natural adhesive for sutures, seals wounds in an almost miraculous way, and stimulates the regeneration of tissues. But its use goes beyond. On the handles of instruments of fine surgery, its unique property makes the patient suffer far fewer subsequent complications. It calms the flesh, persuades it toward healing.

The class continued, a methodical parade of natural wonders: the wax of the zintel, which sealed bandages and was antifungal; the wax of the lanquirios, impermeable and flexible; the resin of the high-altitude elkar, which was burned and improved altitude sickness; the greasy wax of the waxban, used to protect from the cold but also as an anti-inflammatory; the resin of the coral tree, which was a powerful complement to stave off infections; the resin of the brown sun tree, used principally as an insect repellent.

Each one was presented with small examples and clear enumerations, a taxonomy of healing. At the end, Anselmo closed his book of notes with a definitive gesture. —It is important that you remember. He looked at them all with his tired but lucid eyes. —That this is only the introduction. We will dedicate a complete class to each one of these substances. Patience is the first tool of the healer. As soon as the last words resonated, Selena stood up with a leap.

The class with Valerian was next, and the punctuality of the resonant was as unpredictable as his humor. She crossed the campus at a swift pace, the fresh morning air crashing against her face. When she arrived at the Atrium of Knowledge, beneath the imposing silhouette of the Hourglass, there was no one. Only a note, badly stuck with a crude glue on one of the crystals of the clock, swayed with the breeze. The calligraphy was pitiful, shaky, as if written with the left hand or in full motion.

It said:"Crimson, think, read and understand. If you are good enough, you will find me. (Hint: I am not where I usually am.) V." Selena tore off the note with a sharp gesture, feeling the cheap paper between her fingers. She moved her head from left to right, a deep and tired disappointment knotting in her throat. Every interaction with Valerian confirmed more the words of Isolde.

Far from being an interesting or enigmatic master, he revealed himself more and more as a capricious idiot, a powerful child who played with the patience and time of others. Without knowing where to go and refusing to run like a hound after another absurd clue, she decided to sit on a nearby stone bench. First, she headed to the usual food stall, a cart where today a woman of kind face sold simple sandwiches of black bread and smoked cheese.

With one in hand, she returned to the bench and began to chew mechanically, her gaze lost in the clouds that slid over the towers of Kaelburg. It was then when a figure stepped between her and the light of the sun. She looked up. It was Ralish Silkhand, the boy of the impeccable braid and sharp curiosity. He made a bow of the head, neat and respectful. —My Lady, if you permit me —he began, with his polite tone. Selena did not stop eating, noticing a slight raised eyebrow from Ralish.

—I would like to introduce you to a friend of mine. He too was... very interested in your comment about the four humors that you so kindly shared with me. —He made a gesture with his arm, giving way to another youth who had remained a few steps behind. The newcomer had a dark complexion like polished ebony, his features, angular and serene, reminded Selena, with a distant and pricking hit of nostalgia, of her friend Román, the one from the dreams of a world to which she no longer belonged.

A memory of another world she thought with eternal nostalgia inside her chest, a slight sigh laden with loss escaped from her lips sealing the gesture. Kaela, at least I have her. —This is Hassan —Ralish said. The youth, Hassan, made a deeper reverence, proper of other courtesies. When he spoke, his accent was marked and musical, the unmistakable accent of Sandstrohm, the vast desert sultanate of the south. —My lady —he said, and his voice was grave and deliberate.

Selena observed him, he was slightly anxious about that moment, the way he rubbed his hands had betrayed him. —I am very interested in the innovation of your thinking. In my land, in the centers of learning of Al'Miraj, we have been trying for generations to replicate every result, to subject knowledge to the test time and again. But we do not achieve a correct method, a reliable compass. He left the words in the air a few seconds and then resumed.

—However, we have deciphered, by pure observation and statistics, that the theory of humors is... retrograde. A drag for the advancement of true knowledge. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. He paused, his dark eyes shining with avid intelligence. —As you know, Al'Miraj has contact with the knowledge of all the world. And it would be an honor, a true honor, to hear from your mouth what we already suspect, but have not been able to articulate with such forcefulness.

Selena observed him. It was not the flattering curiosity of a courtier, but the genuine thirst of a seeker of truth. She felt a flash of something she had believed lost: intellectual comradeship. She responded, not in Erahari, but in the Sahric that in her accent sounded harsh and direct, it was the language she had been practicing with Samira, the language of the desert that Hassan without a doubt would master. —Jorí Sháhi Gawrá rawánuy slaw lay tó u hamú málakat dákat.

—she said, her Sahric fluid and precise, making Ralish blink with surprise. Selena remembering knew that her pronunciation of the greeting had been perfect "The great Sun King greets you and all your house", although the sun had arrested him a bit. He replied immediately with a smile on his face. —Biwá la málî tushdá ashtî bêt u báser awáneshdá biláw bêtawa ke Joshit dawên. The translation arrived at her mind immediately "In yours be there in peace and extend through those you love."

Then Selena continued in Sahric, now with a smile on her face. —The advance is in the replication of a proven method under identical conditions. The four humors, in their basic premise, defend that the liquid of the body changes constantly, even in minutes, that that creates sicknesses, changes of humor and problems in the long run. Hassan nodded, following every word with fierce concentration.

—If that premise were real, acts like vomiting, losing blood, or urinating in excess should irrevocably alter your humor, your essence. A good example is that a happy madman will always be so, even if he bleeds out with a smile on his face. Madness or happiness reside in something deeper than bile. Ralish frowned, straining to understand the unknown language, but Hassan was completely immersed. —The cure they propose is even worse —Selena continued.

After she fixed a lock of hair that the wind had stuck to her face. —Bloodlettings, or extracting liquids from an already sick body, far from improving it, weaken it critically. Blood, gastric juices, lymph... for the most part are essential for recovery. The few times that the method seems to work are a statistical coincidence, where the excess of a liquid could not be released by the natural mechanisms of the body. They confuse correlation with causality. She paused, looking for the perfect analogy.

—The third flaw is logical, and fatal: they used the same unique, magical explanation for absolutely all diseases. From an infection by a dirty wound to the deepest melancholy, from fever to blindness. As if the whole extremely complex human organism were reduced to a single and simple error of mixing liquids. It is something so absurd. Her voice then took a tinge of scientific exasperation, and she could not help but sigh.

—Like saying that any problem in a harvest, be it drought, plagues, poor soil, late frosts is always and solely due to "the soil being badly moistened". A single vague cause for all evils, without distinguishing, without investigating, without understanding. She stopped talking. The small corner of the patio seemed to have remained in silence, only broken by the distant murmur of the university. Hassan said nothing for a long moment. Then, slowly, he stood up from where he was semi-inclined. He began to applaud.

It was not a loud or theatrical applause, but deliberate, resonant, laden with a deep and genuine emotion. His eyes shone with admiration that had nothing of servile. Ralish, still trying to decipher the Sahric words he had not understood, looked at the scene between confused and impressed, understanding that something important, something that transcended languages, had just occurred.

—Please, can you speak in a tongue I understand —Ralish let out at last, his expression a mix of polite frustration and burning curiosity. Selena smiled, a slight gesture that softened for an instant the habitual tension of her face. —No problem, Ralish —she said, changing to the fluid Erahari. With a movement of her hand, she invited both to sit on the stone bench, which was long enough for the three of them. —I only told him the same as to you the other day, but with more polished arguments and an extra example.

After all, it is what he was looking for: a clear refutation. She made a small pause, a fleeting gesture as if looking for something lost in the recesses of her mind, and then, turning toward Hassan, asked with genuine interest: —What is your friend's last name? The youth of Sandstrohm inclined his head slightly. —Al-Sa'di —he responded. The name sounded like a grave and melodic note. —I arrived in Kaelburg by direct recommendation of His Majesty, barely a few days ago.

Ralish, moved by curiosity for foreign medical practices, approached me. And after several days of debates... quite intense, he commented to me what you, my lady, had exposed. I could not resist the opportunity to hear it firsthand. However, Selena already had a face of annoyance that both were beginning to notice, it was then when she interrupted him. —Enough of formalities. Her tone admitted no discussion but lacked arrogance, both only looked at her. —Here, for both, I am Selena from now on.

Doesn't that seem infinitely better to you than the constant and unnecessary bureaucracy of titles? She raised an eyebrow, defiantly, waiting for their answer. Both nodded, though Ralish did so with more vehemence. —I will try —said the son of the silk magnate. Then almost hesitantly he added. —It is difficult to remove a habit you carry engraved from the cradle. —He went silent, pensive, as if he were already mentally rehearsing the word "Selena" instead of "my lady".

Hassan looked at her an instant, Selena remained in her gesture of seriousness. —On my part, there is no problem —added Hassan. His accent giving a peculiar cadence to the words, almost with an involuntary, very sensual charge. —I prefer it. And although my family has a status equivalent to that of viscounts in your kingdom, I must clarify that I will not inherit the title until I demonstrate a significant medical advance, something that truly helps my family or contributes to the kingdom of Sandstrohm.

A sigh, laden not with heaviness, but with determination, escaped from his lips. —Merit, not birth, is the coin that is worth most in the deserts of the south. Selena observed the two of them, and a clear understanding illuminated her mind. The problem of Ralish and Hassan was incredibly similar in its core: both were sons of powerful men who measured the value of their offspring by tangible contributions to the state, trapped between family expectation and the search for genuine knowledge.

It was no wonder they had fit so perfectly as friends. They were two exiles from the same pressure, finding each other on neutral ground. With a tone of genuine curiosity, Selena changed the subject abruptly, directing her gaze to Hassan. —By the way, do you know how to fight with the scimitar? The question, so out of place in a medical conversation, took the youth by surprise. —No —he responded immediately. It had been almost by reflex, and the next thing he said was with the voice of one who recites a dogma.

—No apprentice of a doctor would ever touch a weapon. It is... incompatible with the oath to preserve life. But then, his tone dropped, becoming almost confidential, and a flash of nostalgia crossed his dark eyes. —Although... as a child, in the courtyards of the palace where my father served, I liked to sneak in to watch the training of the Xulamán. The sound of clashing metal, the dance of the movements... it had its own beauty. Ralish let out a laugh, a carefree and jovial sound.

—You ask because you have difficulties in weapons class, right? He had guessed with perspicacity, but Selena could only sigh and nod. —I, truth be told, did not even dare to take it as complementary. I feel I would be just one more clumsy person wielding a sword. Perhaps it would even be more dangerous for myself than for the opponent. —He laughed again, but this time the laugh was directed toward his own imaginary clumsiness, a gesture of humility that suited him well.

The following hours ran at full speed, sliding among the stones of the courtyard with the lightness of a fluid and complicit conversation. They talked about basic medicine, comparing techniques between Erabergh and Sandstrohm. They debated about the intricate and often frustrating dilemmas of medical ethics that Selena so much detested.

Hassan shared curiosities of his land: the caravans that crossed dunes that moved with the wind, the cities carved into the cliffs of red sandstone, the underground libraries of Al'Miraj where treatises older than the kingdom of Erabergh itself were kept. Light jokes were born, principally about the musical accent of Hassan, which he received with good humor and elegance.

Selena, in an impulse to anchor herself in something completely banal and comforting, decided to guide the conversation toward the most earthly theme of all: food. She learned that in Sandstrohm, the meat tradition was deep and ritualized, but they did not eat just any animal. Only herbivores, raised in the scarce oases and considered "pure" for following the natural cycle of the desert without spilling unnecessary blood.

And she discovered, to her fascination, that their currency, the shalac, was not based on gold or silver, but on water. They were glazed ceramic tokens that represented rights to specific quantities of the vital liquid in the communal deposits, a system that reflected with poetic crudeness the true wealth of the desert.